


Don't Let Me...

by Nevara_Alyss



Category: Fable 3 (Video Game)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Ben Finn - Freeform, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Masturbation, Princess - Freeform, Sexual Tension, Smut, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 00:54:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevara_Alyss/pseuds/Nevara_Alyss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The harsh reality of rebellion looms closer. Many will die. The choices they make now have brutal consequences. Ben Finn, joins the rebellion to depose the King at the side of the Princess. Can he keep his priorities in check while fighting for what is right or do they blur what is right and wrong already?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Recover

**Author's Note:**

> The dialogue between the characters is free form and might skirt OOC at times.

Ben Finn stared at the target in exhaustion as he squeezed the trigger of his pistol. The soft thud of the ball hitting the center mark drifted wearily into the mid-afternoon air. He wasn’t surprised by the accuracy of his aim nor the pain he felt in his ribs when he inhaled. He held his breath, slowly pulling the hammer back again to take another shot.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a full nights rest since he’d been at Mourningwood. This was a place they sent people to die, which was readily apparent, given the casualties that Major Swift’s soldiers had endured. The attacks by hollow men when the sun fell depleted their numbers every night, hobbes wandered the marshes in roving bands, the cemetery they trudged through on their way to the fort gave a finality to their march.

_The whole area is demoralizing._  


He returned his concentration to the target and fired another round. Holstering his sidearm, he glanced at the overcast clouds and the faintest glimmer of the sun dusted the canopy with its fading light. Hammers clattered over nails as soldiers feverishly worked to shore up their defenses for another night of fighting. He examined the soldiers, the weariness of combat and anxiety of nightfall lingered heavily on their dirty faces.

He didn’t know how long they were going to last out there, but he kept such dreadful council to himself. He ran his fingers through his sandy hair and let out a dry scoff. He wasn’t one to think such pessimistic thoughts often, but when they did bore into him, the desperation of reality hung heavily on him. He’d seen such realities throughout his life, that the lessons granted little solace for the future. It seemed to be something that followed him like a shackled ball attached to his ankle.

He heard Jammy laughing maniacally from the battlements above him. The sickening gurgle of fluid escaped with a harsh whistling as he inhaled. For every injury that he’d received during his tenure there, he’d never lost his spirit. Every wound and scar was a badge of his escape from death’s grasp. Ben never overtly uttered the possibility that he was more accident prone than lucky, but knew that borrowed time was going to be repaid whether they wanted it to be or not.

From across the yard, on another battlement above the splintered doors of the fort, he heard the yelling of the guard on duty. He had his rifle at the ready and aimed at the marshy ground below.

“Open up the door, idiot. You know who it is.” The familiar voice of his friend, Sir Walter, echoed deftly off the crumbling walls.

Ben let out a soft chuckle, relieved that reinforcements had arrived to help them survive the night. He gave a look to Major Swift, who was quaffing his handlebar moustache with his free hand, and holding his large pipe in the other. They both approached the gate and waited for the guards to let in their ally. Friends were few and far between in this desolate place and they needed every one of them that they could get, but the young captain, had no idea who would be helping alongside him.


	2. Jump to Conclusions

Walter’s barreled chest heaved as he came through the gate. His face beamed with relief as he extended his hand in greeting toward Major Swift then to Ben. The unforgettable smell of sweat and muck hit the captain like a brick. Rather than turn his nose up at the noxious smell, Ben smiled and wiped the dripping sweat from his forehead.

“We weren’t expecting you, Walter,” Major Swift stated with a quick sniff.

“Yeah, we could have used someone like you months ago,” Ben uttered with a lopsided smirk. “I can’t keep taking all the credit for our survival.”

He looked up to the towering man and covered his eyes from the sun’s glare. The greying man let out a wry snort and replied with his all too familiar line: “Shut up, Ben.” It was more a term of endearment than a blunt retort he’d given, which made the man smile even wider. A sticky, damp breeze wafted through the shambled together fortification making his hair bristle slightly. Leaves floated haphazardly to the ground, he watched them land, the near daydream state he felt himself slipping into was broken by strange darkened strands flitting carelessly in the fading zephyr. 

He’d heard of the ghost children that banshees created in the mist, but could have sworn they were confined mostly to Wraithmarsh. His senses heightened further, his adrenaline began to course, sending his heart into palpitations. Ben’s teeth clenched, while the buzzing of his commanding officer and Walter rattled off in his ears. He felt sweat slide down his face, plastering his sandy hair down. Time to seem to slow for those brief seconds; he had to make a decision.

_Given our location and what hunts us out here, it’s better to be safe than sorry._

His reflexes honed to a fine point pulled his sidearm and pointed it to the side of his friend. A small pale face peered from behind Walter’s hulking mass. Large, hazel eyes stared back at him; she examined him briefly in silence before disappearing again behind his friend. It was one of the few times he’d gladly hesitated for the mistake he could have made.

Ben shook off the thought of the dreadful mistake he could have made and returned his attention to the men. They were silent now. The soldier hadn’t realized they had stopped speaking when he’d pulled his weapon. They glared at him now, the single ounce of annoyance they gave him made his head droop slightly.

Major Swift cleared his throat to remove the uncomfortable event from their minds – which Ben was thankful for – and lead Walter to a small table. The small woman followed suit, her eyes dead set before her. He watched her hand shift from her front to the side. The faint glint of steel shone briefly before disappearing and the familiar click of a gun’s hammer coming to rest again hit his ears.

He walked beside her, heavily curious as to her intentions or why she was even there. He looked out his peripheral to her, a strange feeling of nervousness and oddly placed satisfaction filled him. He had no idea she’d drawn a weapon and still thinking that he could beat her in a draw, realized that the weapon strapped to her thigh – _her firm thigh_ – was a far more interesting topic to start a conversation with.

The small group convened around the splintering table, Major Swift’s pipe puffed smoke out like the smoke stacks in Bowerstone Industrial. The older man rested his hands on the tabletop and shook his head.

“What are you doing out here?” Swift asked without looking at his friend. “You’re supposed to be in Bowerstone still.”

Walter looked down at the small woman briefly and with a hesitant sigh replied, “Circumstances forced us to leave, sooner than I’d thought.”

The major’s mustache twitched as his jaw clenched with concern. The old soldier finally looked to the woman – who had been silent during the exchange – and pointed his pipe at her.

“So she’s –“

“The princess,” Walter finished with a firm nod. He gave her a half-hearted smile, which she returned in kind. “And above all else, she’s a Hero.”

Ben was taken aback by the announcement. This girl – this child – was the Princess. King Logan’s sister. 

_It’s not possible._

He looked her over, inspecting every inch of her for any sign of her being royalty or even a Hero. What he saw was someone small in stature, donning clothes that didn’t fit someone as regal. Her heavy boots were caked in mud, muck and soggy with bog water. The pants she wore, while leaving more to the imagination, gave tiny hints of pale white flesh from the sides. Her top was awash with various stains from green to the obvious spattering of blood. Even her hair was filthy with plant debris and thick with other nasty things.

Her head turned slightly towards him and he quickly looked away. He knew his eyes lingered far too long and he’d been caught in the act. Suddenly, she snapped her fingers and a dog trotted to her side. She knelt beside the beast and gave him a loving scratch along his back. Its tail wagged feverishly at her attention. She looked up at Ben, her head cocking slightly, and smiled.

His mind conjured a memory of a small girl about the age of eight looking up at him the same way. Except now he saw her in the same clothes woman was and armed. The only thing that changed between the two was the sparkle in her eye had dimmed into a deep sadness. He slammed his eyes shut to erase the image and tried to avoid her gaze by focusing on what Swift and Walter were speaking about.

“Princess Roselynn is looking to depose her brother?” Swift questioned with overstated amusement.

“You realize if this doesn’t work we’ll all be on a date with the noose,” Ben acknowledged. His tone almost matched his commander’s.

“It _has_ to happen,” Walter insisted. “Logan has gone too far, for too long.” 

The burly man looked over his shoulder to the rebel princess and frowned. The Old Guard soldiers turned to her and watched as she looked toward the sky. Ben looked back at Walter and matched his frown. From the look on his face, he could see he was worried about her.

“Is she alright?” Swift asked.

Walter shook his head. “I don’t know. She hasn’t really said much.”

“Well, we can’t just leave now. Mourningwood is far more dangerous at night. What with the hollowmen. It’s easier to get to Bowerstone during the day,” Finn stated giving the princess another look. The flash of the small girl returned again and he shook his head only uttering, “And we have to survive tonight.”

The wind blew hard as they spoke of their plans for rebellion and how to survive the night. Walter told Ben to show Roselynn around and get her acquainted with the soldiers. The fires in the sconces danced wildly and yet Ben and the others hadn’t realized that night had already come and that his charge had disappeared.


End file.
